


A Sweet Enterprise

by Styfas



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Mention of Captain Francis Crozier - Freeform, Mention of George Chambers - Freeform, Mention of the Royal Marines as a group, Mentions of sex acts seen, Other, Since there are mentions of sex acts seen and physiques..., elements of voyeurism, this may not be a "true" E; maybe it's really M?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29587239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Styfas/pseuds/Styfas
Summary: Harry Goodsir loves chocolate – and he’s been receiving plenty of it since opening himself to the idea of taking daguerreotypes of crew members in various stages of undress and engaged in sexual activity.James Fitzjames finds out and has words with Harry.Terror Bingo Square:  Sugar
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	A Sweet Enterprise

**Author's Note:**

> Ratings: UGH. Not sure this is an E. Should it be an M? Either way, mention of sex acts, without them being graphically described. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [Drac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drac), who introduced me to The Terror in the first place, and who are the second to read my fics (after me).
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I do not/did not know Harry Goodsir or Commander James Fitzjames (nor Georgie Best, nor Captain Francis Crozier, nor any of the other folk mentioned in this fic; RIP to all). ❤ Their corresponding "characters," as seen in AMC's The Terror, belong to AMC, Producers, Directors, Actors, and anyone else who ever had anything to do with the TV programme. 
> 
> This is fiction, and I'm not making any money from it.

Harry Goodsir loves chocolate – and he’s been receiving plenty of it since opening himself to the idea of taking daguerreotypes of crew members in various stages of undress and engaged in sexual activity. 

He’s taken full-length single portraits of naked men; some with full erections. He does his best to turn his back, or at least look away, when his models prepare themselves. He doesn’t want to give the wrong impression about himself; it’s one thing to be a voyeur under the camera’s curtain and behind its lens, but another thing entirely to be one face-to-face. But when he’s under that camera’s curtain, the things he sees (albeit, upside-down) make his face and chest grow warm – especially when he sees the girth and length of the more particular things. Not that there isn’t more to a man than a rigid penis and the associated genitalia, but one does tend to look there first, doesn’t one? The accompanying physiques are wonderful to behold, as well: tall or short, lithe or muscular, torsos narrow or wide. Long, sturdy thighs and muscular calves. Some men have more of a curve to the spine than others, and no matter the man, the spine always leads to firm round buttocks. Harry most enjoys seeing a good pair of prominent hipbones deliciously framing the lower abdomen and the privates.

Harry saw plenty of bodies when he trained on cadavers, but he never gave those a second thought, as they were for his vocation, much like canvases would be for a painter or blocks of stone for a sculptor. In the sick bay he may see an arm, a leg, a chest – but only in terms of anatomy in context of treating a patient; he considers nothing beyond that. But when he takes daguerreotypes, he’s able to marvel at physical details and differences. For instance, the quantity of hair on chest, arms, and legs, differing from one man to the next. Navels: some are deeply indented (the sight of these goes curiously to his gut – and his groin), and others are not. The variety of nipples is ever-intriguing: some are small, while others are larger and more protruding – and it’s fascinating to note the myriad shades of pink, peach, and tan to be seen on both nipples and areolae, depending on the model. 

He remembers specifically Georgie Chambers; his nipples small and light pink, the areolae a deeper rosy shade, and his chest smooth as polished pink feldspar. He also remembers the day Georgie came into the sick bay with the third of his obviously feigned ailments: a rash on his chest. As Harry leaned in to examine the rash that wasn’t there, Georgie trapped him in an oppressive hug and a not-so-subtle kiss, lips mashed against his. Harry managed to wrench himself away – it was the only way to escape such a tight grip – and then let Georgie know that, while he was flattered, this was not something he desired to pursue, _Please put your shirt back on and pull up your braces, there’s a good boy, you may leave the sick bay now, and don’t forget your coat._

Harry admitted to himself afterwards that he had gone a bit too far in playing up to the boy’s obvious feelings for him – and that he enjoyed it too much. He had smiled at Georgie more than usual, offered to close the door to allow them privacy, and offered to help him off with his shirt. But he never expected the lad to attempt a hug and a kiss. So when Georgie approached him with the request to have his full-length portrait done, Harry’s impulse was to refuse. Until Georgie offered him ten squares of ship’s chocolates.

Harry went under the camera’s curtain and watched as the boy stripped naked, closed his eyes while the boy stroked himself firm, and then, on Georgie’s cue that he was ready, opened his eyes (which widened considerably at the sight of his subject’s privates), and took the image.

“Thank you, Sir,” Georgie said as he handed Harry the precious chocolates at the end of the session. “And you can keep the daguerreotype after it’s developed.” Before Harry could protest, Georgie gave him a hard kiss on the cheek and then dashed down the hallway. Good Lord!

The sessions with couples prove to be challenging. One man enjoying himself is erotic enough – but get two men together and the possibilities are multiplied; oral congress, anal congress, mutual masturbation, one masturbating while the other watches, and so on. Harry tries his best to keep detached and distanced so he can do his job effectively in such scenarios, but sometimes he feels his penis growing and lengthening under his trousers – which is surprising, for he’s never had a physical experience with another man. (Chambers doesn’t count.) Fortunately, not one client has noticed when he gets that hard bulge in his trousers – or if anyone has, then no mention has ever been made when chocolate changes hands.

Then there are the threesomes and the foursomes: Oh, those randy Royal Marines! After strategically placing multiple candles and lanterns, Harry works carefully to get the images just right, no matter the scenario: oral congress daisy chains, anal congress daisy chains, one man performing orally on another while their anal orifices are filled by others. The sessions can become time-consuming, but the abundance of chocolates he receives makes the extra time invested worthwhile.

Over the weeks, Harry has amassed a good quantity of chocolates in his cabin. His routine is to nibble one in the morning, one mid-day (supplementing the chocolate he receives at daily mess), and one before bedtime. He keeps extras in his waistcoat pocket if he gets additional cravings. Sometimes he’ll have a snack if there’s a lull in the sick bay and Dr. Stanley isn’t there. A square of chocolate is a delightful indulgence when reading a medical book in the sick bay or a book of fiction in his cabin at night.

He’s been extremely busy with his side activity for two consecutive weeks, and grateful to finally have a night of freedom with no daguerreotype session on his schedule. Harry walks to his cabin after a full day’s work in the sick bay, looking forward to settling in for an evening of leisure reading, when Captain Fitzjames approaches him. 

“Mr. Goodsir, I’d like to see you in the Great Cabin in five minutes,” Captain Fitzjames says. “There’s something we need to discuss. It’s urgent.”

“Are you ill, Sir? Shall we go to the sick bay?”

“Five minutes.” Fitzjames turns and heads to the Great Cabin.

Could Captain Fitzjames be ill? He’s proud, and he may not want to be seen traveling to or from the sick bay. If ill, it seems logical that the man would want to keep up appearances that all is well; best not to appear weak before the crew. Harry wonders what malady the captain may have – or may be in denial of having. 

His chest tightens as he considers another possibility. Since Captain Fitzjames and Dr. Stanley have sailed together before, surely the captain would want to seek medical advice from him first. In which case, this meeting that’s to take place only a few minutes from now must have something to do with Dr. Stanley – and not with illness. Harry groans. Has Dr. Stanley put in another complaint about him? Harry goes over the events of the day in his mind and reconstructs every conversation he can remember having with the man. Did he do something wrong today? Did he say something that offended him? Something that he must now answer for in front of Captain Fitzjames? He can’t imagine what it could be; today seemed much smoother than the usual. The captain has to be ill; that’s assuredly what it is. Harry will do his best to help. 

He walks swiftly to the Great Cabin and knocks at the closed door. “Captain?”

“Come in!” Fitzjames calls. “And close the door behind you.”

Harry obeys and approaches the table where Fitzjames is seated. 

The captain looks relaxed, leaning back into his chair with legs crossed, elbows on the arm rests, and fingers steepled in front of his chest. However, the man’s facial expression doesn’t match up. He doesn’t look angry, but he does look serious, his lips in a straight line. He eyes Harry with a steady gaze. Most disconcerting is that he hasn’t directed Harry to sit.

“I understand you like chocolate, Mr. Goodsir.”

“I do, Sir.” 

Fitzjames nods; his gaze no less intense. “I’m by no means a connoisseur, but I fail to see what’s so good about ship’s chocolates. They’re bitter to my tongue.” 

Harry wonders how any of this can be considered an urgent matter. Probably just light conversation before the more important matter, whatever it may be. “They are bitter – but I do enjoy them.”

“I’ve heard that many of the men have been offering you their chocolates.”

Harry’s face goes cold. No, Captain Fitzjames couldn’t possibly know about the daguerreotypes. Still, he feels the need to rationalize without giving anything away. “Some of the men do like to share,” Harry flails, “because they know… as you do… that I like chocolate.” A chuckle bubbles up from his throat. “Some men like to smoke… and I like chocolate. I suppose chocolate is my vice.” The more he says, the more ridiculous he knows he must sound, so he stops and searches Fitzjames’ face for a positive reaction. 

Nothing changes in the captain’s expression except for raised eyebrows. “Is it your _only_ vice?”

This doesn’t bode well. Although he’d rather not say anything, the man asked him a question, so he’s obligated to answer. “Well… I do enjoy reading – and sometimes for pleasure, as opposed to work. Shakespeare, in fact.” Harry’s heart flutters right along with the fluttering of his voice. “Is… Is that a vice? Reading for pleasure, I mean. Not Shakespeare…”

Fitzjames smirks while Harry speaks, and waits several seconds before replying. He uncrosses his legs and sits forward, resting folded hands on the table, then speaks at a torturously slow pace. “I’ve been made aware of your enterprise, Mr. Goodsir.”

Harry’s face drops. “Sir?” 

“And that you’ve been accepting chocolate as payment for services provided.”

Twitching fingers; this won’t do. Harry quickly clasps his hands in front of him, going white-knuckled. Now, if he could only stop his right leg from shaking.

“Taking daguerreotypes of naked men involved in sexual acts?“ Fitzjames shakes his head. “I would have never suspected something like this from you.”

Harry bows his head, unable to look into the captain’s eyes. 

The captain’s voice is too smooth, too calm. “And do you derive any pleasure from your activity?”

Harry raises his head and forces himself to speak through the dryness of his throat and mouth. “No. No, Sir. Never.” He won’t tell the captain that he’s derived pleasure of the solitary sort upon seeing the finished products in the privacy of his cabin. Georgie Chambers comes immediately to mind; God help him, the boy is eight years younger than him, and Harry continues to keep that daguerreotype of him tucked away in his cabin for inspiration. “Sir… It’s… It‘s true that I’ve _witnessed_ certain… acts. But I’ve never… I haven’t… and I would never… You can ask any of the men who’ve come to see me. They’ve offered sexual favours in exchange, some of them – but believe me, I’ve never consented.”

“Only chocolate?”

Harry nods. “I’ve never touched any of the men, and I never let them touch me, and I-”

“That must require a Herculean self-control,” Fitzjames says. 

“Actually, no, Sir. I’m only doing a job. I endeavor to detach myself from what occurs before the lens.”

A tiny smile sneaks up on Fitzjames’ face. “As a true professional would.” 

The words, uttered in any other circumstance, could be considered as a compliment, but considering the current topic of discussion, they sting Harry’s heart.

The captain leans further forward and capture’s Harry’s gaze. “Captain Crozier will be here within the hour, and together we’ll discuss what’s to be done.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry says, squeezing the words from his throat. 

“Do you have anything else to say for yourself?’

Harry shakes his head, unable to speak because his breath is now coming in uneven shudders. He wishes the Captain would dismiss him before he breaks down into tears. 

“Very well. Have a seat.” Fitzjames indicates the chair across from him. But why is he smiling? Does he get some strange sadistic pleasure from seeing him in this state? 

When Harry first walked in, he wanted to sit. Now all he wants to do is leave. Instead, it’s possible he’ll have to stay here until Captain Crozier arrives. After going through this embarrassment with Captain Fitzjames, will he now have to endure it all over again with Captain Crozier doing the questioning? Harry shuffles to the table and sinks down into the chair, keeping his gaze lowered.

He’ll be lashed; he’s sure of it. Certainly, others will be lashed along with him. When he considers how many have availed him of his services, he thinks the number of men to be lashed may well outnumber the assembled spectators. 

His mind goes into a whirlpool of thoughts about how his indiscretions will affect him now and in the future: The shame of being whipped in front of the ship’s company, and the horror of knowing that Dr. Stanley will be the one to tend to his wounds afterwards; Harry will never hear the end of it from him. The physical pain of the lashing, and the pain of healing. Being scarred for life. How will he be able to look at himself the mirror? How will be explain his scars to a future lover? To a physician? And when a physician finds out, then his parents may well be informed, and he’ll have to deal with the shame of that. 

He doubts he’ll ever be able to enjoy chocolate again. 

He’s inclined to beg for mercy. It might not make things better – but at this juncture, it certainly can’t make things any worse. He looks up tentatively. “Captain? May I…?”

Fitzjames clears his throat and nods.

“Sir… I’m deeply sorry for what I’ve done… and while I realize I was complicit, I never touched anyone, and I never engaged in any physical activity, as such. Not _directly_. So I wonder if you might-”

“Enough. This is not for you to decide, nor to negotiate.”

Harry’s heart plummets, as does his voice. “I understand.”

Fitzjames’ smallish smile finally broadens. “No, Mr. Goodsir, I don’t think you do.” He rises and goes into the captain’s cabin. A moment later he returns with a small brown box, nothing fancy; the type in which one might store items such as letters or other papers, spare cravats, trinkets, and the like. He sets it on the table and takes his seat again. “Go ahead,” he says, gesturing with an open palm. “Open it.”

Harry carefully lifts the lid with trembling fingers.

Fitzjames takes it from Harry’s hands and sets it aside. “I acquired these chocolates from an exclusive confectionary shortly before we set sail. Try one.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll like these. They’re infinitely better than ship’s chocolates. More sugar in the mix.”

Harry reluctantly chooses a chocolate; it may well be the last one he’ll eat in his lifetime. It melts in his mouth, luscious and velvety smooth. 

“Well?” Fitzjames asks.

“Phenomenal,” Harry says. “Thank you, Sir. But why-”

“Consider it as your first installment.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve seen some of the daguerreotypes you’ve prepared. You do excellent work, Mr. Goodsir.”

“But… how did you happen to see-”

“And you needn’t worry. You won’t be lashed, and neither will any of the men who’ve had daguerreotypes done. There will be no punishment of any kind.”

Harry lets the air that’s been trapped in his chest leave his body in a long sigh. “Thank you, Sir. Thank you. And I promise I’ll never do it again. I’m finished with taking daguerreotypes of that sort.”

Fitzjames chuckles. “Do you still not understand? As I mentioned earlier, Captain Crozier will be here within the hour, and together he and I will discuss what’s to be done.”

“Sir?”

“You are _not_ finished. I foresee an extended session tonight. At its conclusion, this entire box of chocolates will be yours.” He grins. “ _Now_ do you understand?” 

Harry’s former nervous energy channels into relieved laughter. “Yes, Sir.” 

“Good. Get your camera and return directly. You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Sir!” Harry bolts up from his chair, his legs strong once more, and darts out of the Great Cabin. Earning a box of special chocolates will be better than having a night off, and much better than reading Shakespeare. 

They’ll be the sweetest he’s ever tasted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. ❤
> 
> (And does anyone besides HIckey, Hartnell, and Manson _ever_ get lashed in fic? I'm curious.)


End file.
